


Of All the People I Have Left (It's You I Keep Returning To)

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Category: The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e05 Take Shelter, Foggy has too many Bi Feelings for this to be strictly platonic but he holds them in like a champ, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Missing Scene, POV Foggy Nelson, bringing back that unsubtle S1 subtext tho, than concretely labeling their relationship romantic or platonic, this is more about how much they care about each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 00:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: The missing scene from Take Shelter where Matt goes to get Foggy. Because you don't just not personally escort your best friend into police protective custody when you know ninjas might be coming to kill him.





	Of All the People I Have Left (It's You I Keep Returning To)

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's finally working her way through The Defenders?? Anyway I was pissed they didn't give us this scene (BEST. FRIENDS. FOR. TEN. YEARS. YOU. FUCKERS. Like no offense to Karen bc I love her but?? Matt has known Foggy FIVE TIMES AS LONG according to S2 canon and they couldn't give us this??) and as far as I can tell no one else has written a fic for it so my brain went into overdrive and I banged this whole thing out last night.

It’s late. Not super late, but late enough that Foggy knows he should at least be pretending to pack up for the night. It’s not like he’s even working. It’s not like Hogarth is going to pay him overtime for sitting at his desk with his head in his hands like an idiot.

The building is pretty well empty, he knows, excepting a couple of people working on the firm’s more critical cases – still cleaning up the Rand Corp heroin debacle – and Hogarth herself. Foggy’s not sure _she_ ever leaves, except to go to meetings or visit Danny Rand (which Foggy really shouldn’t know about but does anyway – _thank you_ unreasonably keen observation skills gained from working with a man who has zero self-preservation and lies to you constantly about everything!) But it’s not as though Foggy has any room to judge Hogarth on the matter, and she’s his boss not his friend so he can’t say anything about her workaholic tendencies without probably getting fired. Plus, frankly, he’s kind of tired of everyone else’s mental health being his business anyway. Jeri Hogarth is way more of an adult than Foggy’s ever gonna be; she’s tough, she can handle herself.

And god, Foggy just really needs to go home.

With a loud sigh, he drags his hands down his face and pushes up from the desk. Grabs his briefcase – thinks fondly of his old satchel for two seconds too long – and starts packing up. He’s going to go the hell home and—

And drink, probably. He can at least be that honest with himself.

Out the door, down the elevator, onto the street – and he should flag down a taxi to get home, he thinks, even though he misses walking the streets of New York at night.

Which is when he hears the ominous thump from around the corner of the building. It’s nothing, Foggy tells himself, but he knows his luck isn’t that good. Considering how his life has been going the past two years it’s probably a mugger or a psycho killer or a ninja.

Or, worst of all, it’s Matt, coming to upend Foggy’s life and break his heart again. Before Matt, Foggy had only thought you could get your heart broken once per person, but Matt is a stunning case study in rollercoaster-like interpersonal highs and lows.

_Fuck it_ , Foggy thinks, because it doesn’t matter if it’s Matt or ninjas or Frank Castle’s ghost – it’s not like any of them would let Foggy go on his merry way just because he pretended he hadn’t heard anything. So, squaring his shoulders, he steps around the corner.

The air is promptly punched from his lungs by sheer shock because standing there is—

It’s Matt all right. In the fucking red Kevlar. Daredevil, back again.

“No,” Foggy says before he even realizes he’s opened his mouth to speak.

“Foggy, I need you to come with m—”

“No! You can’t— You don’t get to do this to me,” Foggy insists, even though his voice is shaking and they can both hear it. “I’m not a part of— _this_. And I don’t want to be. I’m going _home_ , Matt.”

He turns to leave but finds a gloved hand tight around his left wrist.

“Foggy—”

“Let. Go.”

“No,” Matt answers, like it’s that simple, like there’s no other option.

Anger, hurt, indignation all start to bleed into Foggy’s veins like poison. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest, but it only makes Matt tighten his grip.

“So you’re— what, going to hold me against my will?” Foggy spits. “Really?”

That finally seems to set Matt off. He tugs Foggy closer, grasps at Foggy’s lapel with his free hand.

“I am trying to keep you _safe_ , Foggy. I can’t—”

“Keep me safe? Keep me _safe_? I _was_ safe! I haven’t once been threatened or shot or attacked by ninjas since we—” _What ‘we’_ , he thinks to himself bitterly. “Since I—” _But who really did the leaving, right?_ “Since the firm broke up.”

The ending of his rant is a lot less angry than the beginning, but that’s what happens when you delve into too much melancholy mid-shout.

“Because you, you cut ties to Daredevil,” Matt says, his mouth held tight in that way that always makes Foggy’s heart ache. “And with me. But this time it’s not just— I can’t risk you. Even if you don’t, if you, if—”

Matt cuts off as his usual stammer worsens. His breathing is so harsh and so loud that even Foggy can hear the way it seems to get trapped in his throat. The hand clutching at Foggy’s suit is shaking wildly, and the one around his left wrist is painfully tight. Even in the low light of evening, the half of Matt’s face that’s visible is going deathly pale.

“Shit,” Foggy hisses under his breath. “Matt. Matt, take a deep breath. Breathe, buddy, just— just breathe with me, ok?”

Though his own hands feel sweaty and clumsy, Foggy manages to use the right one to ease the hand at his lapel out of a fist; to press it flat against his chest, over his heart. He has no idea if his pulse is steady enough to be any help in calming Matt down, but it’s something. Foggy doesn’t even bother trying to touch the hand locked around his left wrist.

It takes several long, terrifying seconds, but Matt finally comes back to himself. It happens in stages, slowly – fingers flexing gently against Foggy’s chest, Matt’s breaths going deeper and more even, the tension dropping away from his shoulders, his grip on Foggy’s wrist slackening.

“With me?” Foggy asks warily, and Matt gives an exhausted nod.

“Foggy.”

Foggy sighs.

“What, Matt?”

“Even if.” Matt takes a deep breath, straightens his spine the way he always did before a hard case. “Even if you don’t care about me anymore, I… I care about you, and the people I’m fighting right now will use that.”

The part Foggy should focus on is the threat to his safety, but he’s never been completely rational when it comes to Matt Murdock.

“Are you seriously— I’m the one who doesn’t care about you?” Foggy pulls sharply away from Matt, takes two steps backwards. “That is such crap, Matt! Who’s the one that’s tried desperately to keep you alive, here? Who—”

“I can’t lose anyone else, Foggy!” Matt’s voice breaks with emotion, and that’s what really stops Foggy in his tracks. “I. I can’t, but especially not you. Please. Please just listen to me. We can argue later, but we don’t— we don’t have _time_ , and I need you to... I need to _know_ you’re out of danger.”

The pleading tone probably would have worked on its own, but Matt has the gall to take off his stupid horned helmet, too, so Foggy can see his wide, vulnerable eyes. The truth and the fear in them as they stare unseeingly past his right shoulder. Bastard.

“Fine. What do you want me to do?” Foggy sighs; he doesn’t even have the energy to feel humiliated at how quickly he caves.

A brilliant lighthouse-beam of a smile flashes across Matt’s face. Foggy’s heart trips over itself at the sight, which just makes Matt’s expression go more fond and secure.

“We need to get you to the 29th Precinct as soon as possible,” he explains. “There’s a detective there named Misty Knight. She promised to protect you.”

“But protect me from _what_ , Matt? What’s out there that’s so dangerous it requires this?”

And of course, Matt’s face immediately shutters at the question, goes flat and stern and stubborn. His hands tighten on his helmet until his knuckles go white.

“It’s… It’s safer if you don’t know.”

“In what possible way could that be true!” retorts Foggy, tossing out his arms. “According to you I’m in danger anyway!”

“I’ll explain later when it’s, when this is all over. I will, Fog, I promise, but. It’s— We don’t have time right now. I have to get you to the precinct.”

Matt’s desperation is palpable. That’s not a lie, even if the words themselves are a cheap, cardboard-thin cop out – the kind only made more painful by Matt’s choice of outfit when delivering them.

_Freaking Daredevil_ , Foggy thinks, but he gives in like he always does.

The fastest way to get to Harlem would be a taxi, but when Foggy suggests it Matt gets twitchy at the thought of separating.

“I’m— I’m fast, Foggy, but I can’t outrun a car, and if one of _them_ picks you up, I won’t be able to…”

Which sounds like some crazy paranoid bullshit but Foggy’s not the one who knows what they’re actually up against, and he’s not actually looking to die. And he’s really, _really_ not looking to send Matt into a fit of hyperventilation again.

So, Matt dons his helmet and they walk. Arm in arm like they used to, except this time Matt is leading, his head cocked to listen for any potential threat. It takes a long time, but Foggy doesn’t dare break Matt’s concentration by chattering and for once he’s not sure he has anything to say anyway. The two of them weave silently through New York’s back alleys like rats in a maze until Matt deposits Foggy practically on the steps of the 29th Precinct.

“It’ll only be for a few days,” Matt promises, grabbing Foggy’s shoulder in his gloved hand; a familiar gesture of camaraderie made awkward by time and distance. “Just until this blows over. And… Thank you. For doing this for me.”

“I’m not the one looking to throw myself headlong into danger, _Daredevil_ ,” Foggy points out. “And you’re… I…” There are words he should probably say, but just like every other time he chokes them back like maybe keeping them in will convince the universe to protect Matt, to make sure he lives so he can hear them another day. “Don’t go falling into any manholes, Murdock. Karen would never forgive you.”

A soft and familiar smile forms below Daredevil’s glassy, impenetrable eyes.

“You got it, Fog.”

Matt lets him go. Turns to leave. This time, it’s Foggy who reaches out. He hugs Matt tightly from behind, arms looped around his armored chest, and wills himself not to cry.

“Foggy…”

“I know. Just. Let me do this.”

Foggy takes two shaky breaths and squeezes Matt tighter, pressing his forehead against the nape of Matt’s neck. Then, as quickly as he grabbed him, Foggy lets him go. What else can he do? None of his grasping ever stopped Matt from walking into the night to do what he felt he had to. The hug is just… A comfort. One last flimsy spell of protection over the person Foggy loves most in the world.

Watching Matt leave again would be unbearable, so Foggy turns and jogs up to the doors of the 29th Precinct. He steps inside without looking back.


End file.
